I Will Never Stop Trying
by whatifellinlovewith
Summary: "A hand drifts across her shoulders, catching strands of hair, drawing them over her shoulder, gentle and sweet and forbidden, but she sinks into his touch for just a moment anyway. Because he's back. He's not supposed to be back." A season 4 Valentine's Day story. For Valen.


**I will never stop trying  
** _I will never stop watching as you leave  
_ _I will never stop losing my breath  
_ _Every time I see you looking back at me._

\- Never Stop, Safetysuit

* * *

A hand drifts across her shoulders, catching strands of hair, drawing them over her shoulder, gentle and sweet and forbidden, but she sinks into his touch for just a moment anyway.

And then she's turning to face him, tearing her gaze from the murder board to find him standing behind her, his hand still resting on her shoulder. He's smiling, despite the crease of worry in his brow. His gaze locks on hers, his eyes bright and blue and it draws a small smile to her face despite everything, despite the unsolved case at hand.

Because he's back.

He's not supposed to be back.

"Why are you here?" she says, the words coming out breathy. Her cheeks burn pink, and she turns away to hide it, to hide behind a facade of annoyance. "Isn't it too late for you, Castle?"

"Definitely too late to be solving murders," he answers, "which is why I'm here."

She turns to him again, brows furrowing in confusion. "You came to the precinct, where we solve murders, because it's too late to be solving murders?" she repeats, and he nods, smiling wide. "It is _definitely_ past your bedtime, Castle."

His smile widens just as she turns away, and he nudges her shoulder with his. "If you really think so, you can feel free to take me to bed, Beckett."

She scoffs.

But then he's pulling away, putting space between them only to reach for her again. His palm flattens against her back, trails upwards, gentle and slow and distracting, forcing her to fight to keep her eyes trained on the murder board, locked on images she can barely focus on. His fingers curl around her shoulder, and he squeezes gently, drawing her gaze back to his.

He looks serious again; his smile has faded and his eyes are locked on hers, like he can see through her. His hand stays on her shoulder, warm and comforting. His gaze flicks away, and back to hers.

He's nervous, she realizes. And she wonders if his heart is beating as quickly as hers is.

"Castle," she breathes, "what are you really doing here?"

He glances at his hand before turning back at her. "Have you eaten _anything_ since lunch?" he whispers.

Her gaze falls, landing on the surface of her desk, the blue mug that has been empty for hours as she sat here staring at the board, at the evidence, trying to solve a puzzle with dozens of missing pieces. And, of course, he squeezes her shoulder again, because he knows the answer.

He knew before he even asked.

And without saying a word, his hand drifts down her arm, his fingers curling around hers and he pulls her to her feet. He leads her away from her desk, to the door to the break room, and her heart is racing again, her breath catching in her chest when he motions for her to open the door.

She does, slow and hesitant, her one hand still caught in his.

The sight of the room has her sucking in a breath, a gasp trapped in her throat.

The counters are dotted with tiny candles, lighting up the room in a faint orange glow. On the table, a meal she recognizes is set up **:** two burgers, two servings of fries, two milkshakes. It's what they usually order at Remy's, what they usually eat sitting across from each other in the restaurant, laughing at nothing and everything or forgetting the effects of a long case.

He set it all up…for her.

"Castle?"

He squeezes her hand, as though begging her not to run like the pounding of her heart is telling her to, because all she can see now is a wrecking ball threatening to knock down the walls still standing tall around her.

That, or she's starting to realize that he might already be standing next to her, inside them.

"Happy Valentine's Day?"

It sounds like a question, and yet she knows it isn't. Because his eyes are locked on the side of her head, and when she turns to face him, she can see the sincerity shining in the bright blue staring back at her.

"It's not Valentine's Day yet," she whispers back, the corner of her mouth quirking upwards.

He smiles back at her, and reaches into his pocket to fish out his phone and flash her the date and time on his lock screen.

It's just a few minutes past midnight. It's Valentine's Day.

"So, Kate, will you be my Valentine?" he asks, squeezing her hand once again.

And while her mind is screaming at her to say no, her heart leaps, her breath caught in her chest, behind the lump in her throat. Her thumb drifts over his, and squeezes his hand in return, offering a small smile.

"Okay."

* * *

They've done this before. They've done all of this before. He's brought her to Remy's, her arm hooked through his during the early hours of the morning, or they've ordered takeout and shared right here in the break room, at this very table, the same amount of space between them that there is now.

They've done this before.

And yet when she slides into her seat, her eyes lock on him as he does the same. There's just a few feet between them, and yet she feels the absence of his hand in hers, the cool air that was earlier replaced with the warmth of his skin against hers.

But reaching for him, initiating contact would be breaking the rules she set up for herself, the ones in place to keep her from breaking his heart, to keep her own heart from being broken. So, instead, she curls her one hand around her knee, the other coming up to curl around the cold cup of her milkshake.

He smiles when she hums, the sweet flavor of strawberry hitting her tongue.

"Hungry?" he asks.

She nods, even though her stomach is in knots, the way his gaze stays locked on her as she reaches for a fry and pops it into her mouth.

This is nerve wracking. Because this feels a _lot_ like a date.

She swallows, and her grip tightens around her knee. "Just to be clear, this doesn't mean we're…" She trails off, her gaze falling. "I'm still not ready, Castle. And if this means we're…becoming something else, then I can't do it. I'm just…not ready yet."

He's the one who reaches across the table. He's the one that wraps his hand around hers, stilling the shaking of her fingers and she can't fight the flood of relief in her gut, the love that blooms in her chest.

She doesn't need him to say a word to know that he understands. But he makes her the promise she needs anyway.

"I didn't do this to force you into something you're not ready for, and if you feel like that's what I'm doing, I can leave right now and let you eat your burger in peace," he says, squeezing her hand. "I did this because we're waiting for something, and I think that just because we're waiting doesn't mean that we can't acknowledge that there's _something._ "

Her breath catches, the statement so blatant, so _real._

They're waiting for something, for the chance to be together. She's waiting to be good enough for him, to be even half the woman he deserves. She's waiting for a time when she can acknowledge the flutters in her chest and the flood of warmth in her gut at his touch, and when she can say the words that echo in her head before she falls asleep at night.

"Kate, you are the only person who I could fathom being my Valentine. That's why I'm here. That's why I brought Remy's. That's why I consider myself lucky that you even said yes," he breathes, punctuating himself with a soft laugh.

She doesn't laugh with him.

Her cheeks flush pink, and her hand tightens around his, her thumb tracing the ridge of his. He's still staring at her, his eyes wide and filled with the love she knows he feels, knows _she_ fills.

The love he's spoken, the love she's fighting so hard to be able to profess.

"Castle," she whispers, "you are the only person I could fathom being _my_ Valentine."

And the awe that lights up the blue of his eyes is so beautiful, so perfect that she wishes, more than anything, that she could reach over and plant her lips against his, whisper the words that well in her chest.

But she can't, so she draws her hand from his, reaching for another fry, which she pops into her mouth. And she offers him a smile, hoping it can tell him the words she can't say.

* * *

By the time she finishes her milkshake, a few of the candles have gone out, the room having fallen darker. She steals the last fry from his plate, a giggle escaping her throat when he tries to slap her hand away and misses. He smiles back at her, doesn't bother arguing with her. Because this is the dance they do, the fun that surrounds them.

This is what she has to look forward to, what she fights for. This and so much more.

Her teeth find her lip, her cheeks burning as her head dips and she fights to hide her smile. She reaches for her cup and pretends to take a sip, even though the drink is empty, and she can feels his eyes on her, can imagine the smile that spreads across his face, because of course he knows, too.

But when she looks back up, intent on pretending everything is fine, that her mind isn't racing with possibilities for a future when they're not waiting anymore, he's standing.

He doesn't go far, and his smile doesn't fade when he situates himself next to the table, his shoulders broad, his gaze locked on hers. He holds his hand out, reaching for her, offering it to her.

And she recognizes the gesture, recognizes his stance. It's the exact same one he took at Ryan's wedding, when his role as her plus-one had them toeing the lines, almost crossing them altogether. When she came so close to throwing caution to the wind and letting this long, tortuous wait come to end, only to push him away and remind him that she had to work the next day.

The way he's looking at her now is _exactly_ the way he looked at her when he asked her to dance then.

"Castle?"

"Dance with me?" he breathes.

It has butterflies flooding her stomach, a smile threatening to spread wide across her face. Her heart races, her breath quickening.

"What?" she whispers back, her gaze flicking to his hand for half a second before returning to his face. Her cheeks burn pink, her lips curling into a small smile.

"Dance with me," he repeats, and this time it's not a question.

Her gaze drifts across the room, over the flicker of candlelight and the remaining evidence of the dinner they shared, and butterflies flood her stomach.

Last time they danced, they were in a room full of people, surrounded by Ryan and Jenny's friends and family, a constant reminder not to get caught up in the moment, in him. Now, they're in an empty, candlelit room, after a great dinner together, and he's being so very sweet.

So sweet, so loving that she can't bring herself to say no.

"But there's no music," she tells him.

He smiles, and reaches into his pocket to pull out his phone. She watches as he swipes his thumb across the screen, taps it a few times and turns up the volume before setting it down next to her. She glances at the screen, just as the first few notes of the song start to play, and her breath catches in her throat.

It's the exact song they danced to at Ryan's wedding.

She can't help but wonder if he bought it later that night, just like she did. Can't help but remember the way she curled up in bed with it playing, and forbidden images of them dancing to it at their own wedding playing like a movie behind her eyelids until she fell asleep. And then they had haunted her in her dreams.

They still do, right now, as she looks back up at him with wide eyes, sees his hand outstretched again.

"So, can I have this dance?" he asks.

And she's powerless to say no.

So her hand curls around his, and she lets him draw her to her feet. Her knees are weak, but his arm bands around her back, his hand curling around her hip as he draws her close. She reaches up, her arm draping over his shoulder, her hand finding his nape, fingers dancing across the curls of hair there.

Her gaze stays locked on his as he sways them, his thumb drifting across hers.

And when he smiles, she smiles back.

* * *

One song bleeds into two, which turns into three, and at some point their hands part, and instead she finds herself with both arms wrapped around his neck, his banded around her waist. Her head rests on his shoulder, listening to the race of his heart, her eyes closed to capture this moment, this feeling.

It's _everything._

She sucks in a deep breath, breathing him in, letting herself sink into the feeling of his body pressed against hers, his arms so strong and secure around her. The sensation of his breathing against her hair, of his lips so close to her skin.

This is everything she's fighting for, embodied in a dance that means so much more than anyone could know. Everything she wants with him, once unspoken a promise, in a children's park, sitting on swaying swings, and sealed in the days since, in the brush of his hand across hers when he hands her her coffee, and the way she looped her arm through his at Ryan's wedding.

In dances just like these, that have her walls crumbling before her, that are so perfect, so beautiful that she really can't bring herself to care.

This is it. Tonight is _it._ It's everything she wants for him, for herself, for _them._ It's everything she wants…for the rest of her life.

To live in the warmth of his smile, and the strength of his embrace.

Her eyes flutter open, her fingers combing through his hair as she lifts her head from his shoulder. His arms tighten around her, like an attempt to keep her close, to keep her here, in this moment, where time doesn't exist and her walls aren't a problem and waiting seems optional, or bearable, or both.

She doesn't want to pull away.

She reaches up for him, her hand drifting across his cheek, fingers dancing along the line of his jaw until his gaze falls to lock on hers, his eyes bright with everything they don't say. They can't say.

" _Rick._ "

Her gaze falls to his mouth. His lips are parted, and he breathes quietly, and she finds herself leaning forward, her tongue darting out to taste her own lips, the flavor of strawberry lingering there.

His gaze falls, too, to her mouth, his eyes going dart.

This is against the rules. It's against…everything.

This isn't waiting.

But her thumb drifts across his cheek, and the song fades away behind her, and his head dips and all she needs to do do kiss him is push herself up onto her toes. All she needs to do is–

His hands curl tight around her hips, and he's pushing her away, putting distance between them that has her heart sinking, disappointment welling in chest.

"Kate," he breathes. "We can't. I can't."

Her cheeks burn, her eyes falling shut against the sting of rejection that burns behind him. Her hands curl tight around his shoulders, holding him close.

His fingers are still curled tight around her hips.

"I told you, I didn't do this to make you feel like you have to do anything, or to push you, Kate," he whispers. "We started dinner with you reminding me that you're not ready, and I have to respect that. How could I say that I…care about you if I didn't?"

Her eyes flutter open, her fingers curling tighter around the fabric of his jacket, drawing herself closer to him, her gaze locked on his. "You know I want to, right?" she whispers. "You know I want…you?"

He smiles, but it looks sad, has her heart breaking for him, for them, because of this stupid situation, this stupid game of waiting without knowing when the game will end. His arm bands around her waist again, drawing her back to him until she's pressed against him again, his arms wrapped around her, hers wrapped around him.

The music is still playing, but he doesn't sway this time. He just…holds her.

"I know," he promises, and relief floods her chest, her heart, pulses through her veins. "I know, Kate. And I _really_ hope you know that I want you, too. But you're not ready, and you asked me to wait and I'm willing to wait. You need me to wait, Kate, so I _want_ to wait, for you, so that you can knock down those walls and feel ready. Okay?"

She nods, still pressed against his chest, her arms still looped around his neck. He doesn't push her away this time, just holds her until her fingers trail across the back of his neck, over his shoulders, down his arms to fall for her sides. He squeezes her hip before stepping away.

His eyes are still bright, the love shining in them so vivid. It feels almost tangible.

And she misses the way his arms feel around her. And she still wants to kiss him.

* * *

He banishes her to her desk while he cleans up, despite her protests, and she finds herself sitting in her chair, staring at his, and blinds covering the break room's windows as the orange flicker of candles fades, the room falling dark.

She spins in her chair, one foot pressed against the ground, her arms crossed over her chest, shielding her from the onslaught of _need_ to go back to him. The desire to tear down her walls and let this terrible, torturous game end, so she can finally feel his lips against hers again, so being wrapped in his arms is no longer reserved for special occasions and near death experiences.

So the words still trapped in her chest can break free, honest and real and true and so, _so_ wonderful.

The door to the break room swings open, and she turns away, towards the murder board she can't bring herself to focus on anymore, that can't draw her attention from Castle and the soft sound of his footsteps as he comes towards her.

His hand drifts across her shoulder, just like it did earlier. He catches strands of her hair, brushes them over her shoulder, his fingertips dancing across the back of her neck, as gentle as he was when he was holding her earlier. It has her lips curling upwards into a smile, has her tilting her head back against his hand before turning to face him.

"You leaving?" she breathes.

He nods. "And you are, too," he says. "It's late, and you need to get some sleep before we catch the killer tomorrow."

She nods back at him. "I will," she tells hims. "I promise."

His smile is bright and happy, despite the fatigue she knows must be catching up to him. Her arms cross tighter over her chest as she looks up to him, her heart rate spiking once again.

It's amazing how something so simple can make him smile so beautifully.

And then he's holding a coffee cup out for her, one she didn't even realize he was holding, and she's reaching out to take it. Her fingers brush over his, like they always do, echoing the promise they make every single time as her eyes stay locked on his. It seems so simple now, after tonight, and yet it still seems to say everything.

Because tonight will probably never be spoken of again, not until she _is_ ready. But this, the dance of their hands when he offers her a coffee, it will remain.

It will echo everything they've promised each other tonight.

"What's this for?"

"To make sure you stay awake long enough to get home," he tells her.

She rolls her eyes. "I'll be fine, Castle," she whispers. And yet her grip on the mug tightens, the heat warming her hands, soothing the ache caused by the lack of _him._

He shrugs. "Probably," he admits. "Doesn't mean I can't look after you."

She smiles, can't bring herself to deny it, can't bring herself to look away. The mug stays pressed against her chest, clutched between her hands, but she doesn't take a sip.

Her eyes stay locked on him, his locked on hers until he finally blinks, and looks away.

"I should go," he whispers.

She can't be imagining the disappointment that laces every word, that taints the awe, the love still burning bright in his eyes. It must be mirrored in her own. And yet she finds herself nodding, agreeing, forcing her chair to turn as she watches him go. She brings the coffee cup to her mouth, lets it hover there, the rim between her parted lips.

He hits the button to call the elevator, and she stares at the back of his head, at the broad expanse of his shoulders, but he turns around, catching her off guard with the brightness of his eyes, the smile gracing his mouth.

"Kate?" he says, just loud enough for her to hear. "Thank you, for being my Valentine."

Her heart leaps, her breath catching, trapping any response she could come up with in her chest. So she nods. It's all she can do, offering a smile that she hopes echoes the sentiment.

And then the elevator doors slide open, and he steps on, offering her a nod, another promise she doesn't quite catch, but can feel the weight of.

She can feel the weight of everything now. Of his absence, of the lingering effects of his presence, the promises they made, the ones that are still unspoken, the ones she can't yet make.

The weight of the words that are still bright in his eyes until the elevator doors slide closed, that are heavy in her chest, a secret still unspoken.

So she breathes the _I love you_ she should be telling him past the rim of her coffee cup.

Another promise, that one day soon she'll say the words to him.

* * *

 **Happy birthday, Valen! I hope you have a fabulous day, and that this story was a satisfactory birthday gift. (Insert the creepy Stana picture here). Love you!**

 **Also, I hope everyone in the fandom has a great Valentine's Day. And, as always, a huge thank you goes out the Lindsey for beta'ing this so last minute.**


End file.
